


five things Jon noticed and one thing he didn't

by takethebreadsticksandRUN



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Music, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, This made me really happy to write, all of my babies have like no mental health, and we stan, but like really dumb, each chapter is kinda time traveling, jon is really smart, jon is unbearable, jon overload easily, martin has anxiety, no beta we die like men, none of them are used to affection, not!Sasha exists in this au sadly, pretty canon compliant, so just bear with me, this is in a realllyyy weird period, unsufferable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23975701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethebreadsticksandRUN/pseuds/takethebreadsticksandRUN
Summary: i mean the title is pretty self explanatory, but...Jon sees lots of things. The important ones? Sometimes, he ignores those.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 64
Kudos: 176





	1. Love of My Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyyy lovelies! sorry it's been a hot second, i would say i've been busy, but that makes it seem like i was productive when in reality i was having like a week long existential crisis in a blanket because, you know, TMA is kinda crazy right now plus i just finished the entirety of Sherlock BBC and can't handle it. BUT ANYWAYS hope you enjoy reading this, please leave a comment they are super helpful. i'll update this hopefully, but here's chapter 1. they might not be the most cohesive thing like chronologically but anyways...  
> xxx

Jon sat at his desk, head in his hands, sighing. Broken pencil lead rolled across the surface as he pushed back his chair, leaning back on two legs. He looked around his office, sighing again at the stacks of statements piled on every surface. The state his predecessor, Gertrude Robinson, had left the Archives in was frankly disgraceful. There did not seem to be _any form of organization whatsoever._ Zip. Zilch. Nada. It was impossible for Jon to locate anything. As Head Archivist, it was now his job to put everything in its place, which was no simple task. He shook his head and got back to work, sorting statements by apparent subject.

Hours later, back aching, Jon looked for the time. 10:32 blinked at him from his digital clock. He paused for a moment, listening to see if his coworkers were still there. The Archives seemed silent. But as Jon sat, waiting for a jump scare from Tim, another sound met his ears. Somebody, _somewhere,_ was humming Bohemian Rhapsody. Without noticing it, Jon smiled. He sat there, listening to the familiar tune as it drew closer and closer to his open office door. When Martin passed by, Jon didn’t say anything, but instinctively catalogued the information. _Martin: possible Queen fan? Or just good taste…_

Jon let the rest of the night slip away from him in a blur of old statements and filing cabinets, waking the next morning when Sasha turned on the office lights. “Jon! Did you stay here _all night_?” She sounded indignant. _Now, why would that be?_ John mused to himself. People weren’t exactly his strong suit…

“Ah, yes, I believe I did.” Jon looked up at her, sleep crisscrossing his already lined face, “I didn’t mean to, though. I just got-“ he gestured hopelessly at his desk, the statements, the Archives in general, “-a bit carried away.”

“We really appreciate you working so hard, Jon, but do remember to sleep, okay?” Sasha ruffled his hair, leaving the room.

Even though he promised to sleep, Jon stayed late that night. And the next. And the next. What point was there in going home? He no longer had Georgie and the Admiral to return to, home was just a house now. So, Jon worked long and hard, sometimes stealing a catnap on the small cot from Artefact Storage, wondering all the while _why did they have a cot?_ But as time passed Jon learned to love the Archives at night, silent and still.

At least, mostly quiet. Every once in a while, Martin would stay late as well, hunting after some stray bit of information. They didn’t talk, orbiting each other like the planets, never quite touching. More often than not, Jon could hear music from down the hallway, either Martin humming/singing softly or listening to it. Normally Jon would find it distracting, annoying, even, but he never said anything about it. He did, however, take to leaving his door open at night, to better hear the music. It floated around the Archive like steam from a kettle.

~~~

After Jane Prentiss attacked and Martin became a full-time resident of the Archives, Jon noticed the music became more strained. Still there, soft words sung to himself when Martin thought he was alone, voice cracking from the nightmares. Late work nights didn’t hold the same grandeur as they used to for Jon, knowing now the music was the only thing keeping Martin from crumbling.

On the good nights, Jon would be (unknowingly) treated to a few classic songs from older bands, Queen, _Martin loved Freddy Mercury…._ the Beatles, Billy Joel, the like.

~~~

After Martin and Jon escaped the Lonely, hand in hand, they quickly grabbed a few essentials from their respective apartments (Jon driving his _horrid_ sedan, I mean, the thing was mottled green! It needed a quite a bit more love and attention than it had been getting, poor car pretty much reflected Jon’s mental state, just saying) They didn’t talk very much, but Jon held Martin’s hand the whole time, fearful he might slip away. He hurriedly grabbed a change of clothes and, after a moment’s hesitation, an old sleeve of CD’s.

“Jon, why did you-“ Jon instinctively squeezed them closer to his chest with his free hand, looking up at Martin beside him as they loaded into the car for a final time, “I mean, it’s just an _odd choice_ …” Martin trailed off.

“I, uh, remembered how much you liked music. Thought it might be nice, keep the Lonely at bay if I’m not around.” Jon handed the CD’s to him, self-conscious at the way Martin was looking at him. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” he hurried to explain, “Just a thought.”

Martin laughed slightly as he thumbed through the music, “I think it’s a great idea. How did you know that I liked-“ he paused, holding up a scratched CD of David Bowie, “Ah, wait, you probably just _Know_ things like that now.” Martin sounded slightly crestfallen, unwilling to think that Jon just *might* have paid attention to him.

“Actually, I noticed a while back, when you would stay late at the Institute, that you like music.” Martin turned to him; disbelief written in every line of his face.

“That was _years_ ago, Jon. How do you remember that?”

Jon smiled, eyes still on the road, as he replied, “I noticed you, Martin, and I guess you don’t forget important things.”

“But my taste in music, Jon? Important?” Martin teased.

Jon sighed as he replied, “Yes. Everything about you was- is important to me. I just didn’t know why it was, back then.”

Martin blushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i self-project myself onto Martin? maybe. do i care? also maybe. am i going to do anything about it? absolutely not  
> chapter title is the Queen song, 'Love of My Life'


	2. happy birthday, by the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disconcerting absence leads to an uncomfortable voicemail. 
> 
> Or,
> 
> Jon needs to learn some people skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again from lockdown! do you ever just sit down to write one thing but something completely different comes out? yea that's what happened here. there is NO plot, just a fluffy fic of a bunch of times jon was adorable and aggravating to listen to as a TMA fan. comments and kudos are the highlights of my day!  
> thanks lovelies,  
> xxx

When Martin had first been introduced to the team at the Archives, Jon had immediately written him off with little more than a cursory glance. After all, a single glance told him everything he needed to know. _Anxious, overfriendly, not very professional, fidgety, probably has a cat_ , all filed into Jon’s brain and tucked away. Jon introduced himself, polite but frigid, then quickly returned to his work. Let Tim and Sasha take care of the pleasantries.

Unfortunately for Jon, his preemptive assumptions did not quite do Martin K. Blackwood justice, as he discovered over the next few months. Yes, he was friendly. Sometimes annoyingly so. Jon got used to the constant fidgeting, a side effect, he learned, of Martin’s anxiety.

And yes, Martin had a cat.

Or two.

But there was so much more. Martin seemed to genuinely _care_ about his coworkers, he worked hard, always there for some comfort after a hard day.

And for some reason, Jon didn’t like it. He couldn’t exactly put a pin on the exact feeling (emotions had never been something Jon was good at), but he chalked it up to annoyance and left it at that.

Annoyance at what?

His constant chatter, which Jon found himself drawn into magnetically?

Martin’s unprofessional style? _He definitely didn’t look adorable in his fluffy sweaters…_

It had to be how friendly Martin was, Jon tried to reason to himself. Jon was FOR SURE annoyed at how much brighter Martin made every room, how comforting his laugh was, his voice like honey. Yes, Jon was annoyed at how friendly Martin was. Not jealous. Anyone who thought Jon was secretly pining was d e a d w r o n g.

To cope with these uncomfortable *feelings* Jon became extra prickly towards Martin.

“Knock-knock?” Jon quickly sat up at his desk, straightening his tie subconsciously at Martin’s words.

“Come in,” he said in his Supreme Archivist Voice, trying not to seem excited. _Why was he nervous all of the sudden? It was just Martin, who he was annoyed at_.

“Brought you some tea,” Martin set the cup down at the edge of Jon’s desk, looking a tad bit red. _Probably just warm outside_ dismissed Jon.

“Er- thank you, Martin,” _Prickly,_ he thought, _I’m supposed to be annoyed_ , “Oh, how is the follow up on the Hodge statement going?”

The slight smile at his name dropped from Martin’s lips and he tugged at the sleeves of his jumper, “Not very well. Only thing we’ve got so far is definite Prentiss involvement, but other than that…” he trailed off feebly.

“Ah. I see. Should Tim take over the follow-up on that one? He might,” Jon put a poisonous emphasis on the word, “-be better suited to it.”

“No, it’s okay. I should work a little harder,” Martin’s shoulders had visibly slumped. Jon felt a twinge of regret, but immediately squashed it.

“Yes, you should,” he said crisply, comfortable now in berating him.

“I’ll just- go now.” Martin hurriedly left the office.

Jon tasted the tea, unsurprised to find it perfect. How Martin knew what to brew was beyond him. He sighed, feeling slightly uneasy about the encounter. Jon pushed it to the side, returning to his paperwork.

Weeks later, Martin didn’t show up at the Institute for work. Jon noted this and spent the day half-focused on the statement (a nasty one about a serial killer, the Montork case) in front of him, the rest of him worrying about Martin. Jon didn’t admit the worries to himself, instead trying to get through the statement.

It took him much longer than it should have to record it and track down the follow up. Really, on such a highly publicized event, any research should have been easy to find.

“Ahhh,” Jon sighed into his hands, “Why am I so distracted?” Frustrated, Jon jammed the statement back into the folder. He stalked into the breakroom and put the kettle on to boil.

Normally Martin would bring him some.

But Martin was gone.

_Martin was gone._

Where was he?

“Hey, boss!” he jumped as Tim clapped him on the shoulder, “Hanging in there?”

“Er- yes. Just been a rough day.” Tim nodded sagely. Jon poured the steaming water into a mug, adding a few bags of Earl Grey to steep.

“Things are different without Martin around.”

“They really are.” he missed the look Tim gave him as he sighed involuntarily, “By the way, _where_ is he?” Jon avoided his eyes, stirring in a large amount of milk and sugar.

Tim smirked a little, adding this to his case file on the eventual relationship he was _so sure was going to bud_ between Martin and Jon. That is, if Jon stopped acting like a prick. “You don’t remember? It’s his birthday today. Gone to visit his mum up in Bournemouth.”

“Oh! I don’t recall that. Well, happy birthday to him,” Jon paused, removing the dripping tea bags before continuing, in a would-be-casual voice, “When will he be back?”

Tim had to force back a grin as he replied, “He’ll be back tomorrow, never fear, boss. You’ll get your Martin back soon.”

He choked on a sip of the sub-standard tea, “My- _my Martin_?” Jon felt his face heat, “No, nothing of the sort.” Tim snorted. “He’s a valuable member of the research team.” he defended himself.

“Of course, of course,” Tim laughed as he reached around Jon to grab a mug from the cabinet, “Just keep telling yourself that!” Tim, still chuckling, left Jon to try and bring his blush under control.

“This is totally a normal thing to be doing,” Jon told himself as he sat, cross-legged on the floor of his flat, phone in hand, “Anyone can wish anyone happy birthday. That is a typical thing one does on a birthday.” Still apprehensive, Jon dialed Martin’s number _which he definitely didn’t have memorized nope he did not no sir_.

When Martin didn’t pick up, he was slightly relieved. Panic set in again as Jon struggled to gather his thoughts enough to leave a coherent voice mail.

“Hey, leave a message!” Even over recording, Martin sounded friendly. Unfair.

“Hello Martin, it’s Jon. Call me back when you get this,” he sucked in sharply, “Wait, you know what, you should probably just forget this, because by the time you get this, I’ll probably be able to talk to you in person.” Jon cursed himself, why couldn’t he talk like a normal person for once? “Anyways, just wanted to let you know that I was able to find the records for the Timothy Hodge case, you don’t need to worry about it. Ahh,” Jon sighed, “I hate to do this on your birthday.” He was unsure of what *this* was, but still, “Happy birthday, by the way. Hope you had a great trip. I- uh- _we_ missed you today.

“Happy birthday again.” He hung up, a sense of relief settling over him. Leaving messages was quite possibly his least favorite activity on the planet.

Martin probably wouldn’t listen to it, he consoled himself, it’s fine.

Miles away, Martin sat in his hotel room, listening to the message over and over. Tears dripped down his nose slowly. His mother hadn’t been having a good day today and took it out on her son.

“Just leave, Martin! I don’t need you,” she had hurled at him. On his birthday. But of course he had left.

“Thank you, Jon,” Martin whispered.

He hummed ‘Happy Birthday’ to himself, listening to the message again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from the Billie Eilish song "Party Favor" the voicemail is mixed up with lyrics from that amazing song and jon-isms.  
> idk if y'all can tell what jon is noticing in each chapter, but the theme of this one is birthday.  
> let me know if this is making any sort of sense please!  
> and no i will never stop adding "...." as a filler, let me die in peace....  
> i did it again  
> oh well  
> also learned an uncomfortable truth, Julia and Robert Montauk, the serial killer case, are actually Julia and Robert MONTORK. stupid accent. i don't like it but here it is


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin leaves pieces of himself for Jon to find, often much later than intended.
> 
> or
> 
> Old handwritten notes cause some angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is! i mean y'all probably weren't on the edge of your seat for the update, but still, enjoy it! there is a fluffy end in sight, just hang in there. angst is fun to write. please let me know what you think!!  
> xxx

“Here you go, boss,” Tim dropped a stack of papers haphazardly onto Jon’s desk with the air of disposing of a bomb.

“Timothy Stoker, what is this?” Scandalized, Jon vainly tried to align the edges of each paper.

“Follow-up for that statement you asked for. You know,” Tim made a face and said in a strange voice, “The _bone-turner’s tale?_ Whatever that one by Sebastian, ah, can’t say his name right…”

“One, what are you doing with your face? Two, it’s _Sebastian Adekoya_.”

“I am trying to be sPoOkY Jon, don’t judge me!” Tim punched his shoulder lightly, “How do you know that?”

Jon frowned, “I, uh, must have read it somewhere? Just remembered?”

“Sure,” he drawled, unconvinced.

“If this is another one of your crackpot schemes to prove that the Archives are haunted or something, I will _personally_ have you fired.”

“Hey, I’m not accusing you of anything,” he lifted his hands in a placating gesture, “But _think it through_. Something isn’t quite right about this place…”

“I definitely used my magic powers this place has cursed me with to know the last name of one of our recent patrons,” Jon rolled his eyes sarcastically, “You’ll have to do better than that, find something more believable. Don’t you have something to be doing? Somebody else to be annoying at the moment?”

He laughed, “You’re right. I’m late for my 9:27 appointment to confront Elias about how his socks never match his outfit. I’d best be going!”

“Close the door, Tim!” he called at the retreating back of his coworker.

Jon turned back to his desk, mentally restraining himself from docking Tim’s pay for the state of the research. None of the papers in the file seemed to be in the right order and notes from Sasha, Tim and Martin were scattered throughout. He resigned himself to the task of sorting it all out.

Forty-seven minutes, two Aspirin, and several muttered curses later, a thick stack of _organized_ research sat on Jon’s desk. The original statement and follow-up finally sorted out; he began to read through the it.

Tim’s part of the work was, predictably, messy. A few blurry photographs of the place where this _incident_ occurred with scribbled descriptions and a few names and addresses.

Sasha had contributed a decent size report on the library of Jurgen Leitner. He smiled, flipping through the pages of her neat handwriting outlining possible connections. He thought privately that the whole thing was a waste of time, but Sasha had done pretty thorough research on the one aspect, per the usual. She tended to focus on one part of the case. Not helpful in every case, but Jon could respect commitment.

Martin, however, had, _for once_ , actually done something he could be proud of. Jon scanned page after page of his loopy cursive, comprehensively detailing everything from the architect of the library (it was not, thankfully, a creation of Robert Smirke’s) to previous instances of ‘the Boneturner’ in fiction and history alike.

After reading through most of the research, Jon had a pretty good feeling the statement was utter nonsense, cooked up by a man bored of his job with a few _recreative hobbies_ that didn’t assist in his mental state. But still, he kept reading, never realizing he was paying more attention to Martin’s handwriting than the actual sentences.

The flowing script ran across the page and into Jon’s mind, the delicate curve to his ‘g’s, the way he never dotted his ‘i’s, the generous spacing of the words, every comma carrying an essence of the man who wrote them, burned into a distant part of his brain. Information to be filed, then forgotten.

But he kept reading, scanning each line for hints of Martin.

As the days passed, the sight of Martin around the Archives became more and more familiar. Making tea in the breakroom, chatting with his fellow coworkers, hearing his cheerful voice echo up and down the hallways. Martin was able to get Elias to thaw, if only a little bit. At least Elias no longer looked as if he were contemplating firing them all when he deigned to conversate.

So that’s progress, Jon supposed.

Eventually the Archives seemed like Martin had always worked there. Leftovers with his name neatly printed on the label populated the fridge, sticky note reminders for meetings long passed, and empty thermoses proclaiming MARTN BLACKWOOD scattered throughout the Archives, somehow made the workplace more home-like.

“Morning, J- oh,” Martin sighed at the empty office, “You aren’t here. Well, I brought you some tea. Maybe I’ll just, ah,” he plucked a pen off the desk and quickly scribbled a quick note on a scratch paper, leaving it next to the steaming mug. “There you go.”

When Jon returned from a lengthy foray into Artifact Storage, he found the substantially cooler mug of tea sitting on his desk. Smiling, he set down the dusty book he had been searching for and picked up the note. _Made this for you- Martin_. A collection little flourishes embellished the corners, hallmarks of his thoughtfulness.

In a moment of supposed weakness, Jon didn’t throw away one of the few gestures of true kindness he had been shown, tucking it instead into the bottom of his desk compartment.

Over the next few years, more handwritten notes joined the collection.

_Don’t forget to eat today! -Martin_

_Hope today is better than yesterday :) -Martin_

_Research team meeting @3:00 -Martin_

Jon could not say why he kept them, it certainly couldn’t be sentiment, he had never heard of _that_. Still, anytime a note from Martin showed up on his desk, it did not end up in the rubbish bin.

~~~

Jon had completely forgotten about them after he returned to work following his coma. Certainly, he had larger things to be worrying about. The state of his coworkers was, quite frankly, distressing.

In between the disastrous surgery attempt on Melanie, pulling Daisy out of the buried, and trying to reconcile with Basira, Martin somehow slipped his mind. But it wasn’t until Jon approached him about escaping the Institute together that he realized truly how _gone_ Martin was.

The happy, accommodating person had vanished, leaving, well nobody, in his place.

Jon slumped, finally defeated, at his desk. Upset, he rifled through the drawers, looking for something to take his anger out on. When the shredded remains of older statements littered the floor, he opened the bottom drawer.

“Oh, Martin,” he sighed, pulling out scrap after scrap of written sunshine. His handwriting, oh-so familiar, living and breathing a memory of Martin. He held the notes in his scarred hands, reading echoes of a person Jon had never truly lost. How can you lose a person when you didn’t miss them until they were gone?

He read the scraps of conversation with new eyes. Tucked into the neat loops of Martin’s cursive was a story Jon had never truly read before. Accusatory daggers replaced the words, asking _why did you let me leave why didn’t you see me why won’t you talk to me whywhywhywhy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i struggled with this one. jon was NOT cooperating with me, but i am very proud of how tim's scene came out. hope it made you smile!


	4. i can't breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party, some social anxiety, and a crap ton of fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so idk what's going on here. just enjoy it, alright? this one is less angsty and way fluffier than the others... let me know what you think! oh and in this we're pretending not!Sasha never ever happened ever  
> xxx

Jon had turned down invitation after invitation to join Tim, Sasha, and Martin for drinks or a meal. It just seemed uninviting. After all, there was no intention to form a relationship outside of work, at least on his part. Any attempt to bond would be pointless and, for Jon, unprofessional. Keeping up the façade of skeptical boss would be more difficult, and so far, those kinds of masks had protected him in the past.

But they never stopped asking.

Similarly, Jon never stopped denying. Lately, it was harder and harder to say no, but still he persisted in his self-isolation.

“Knock knock?” Elias poked his head into his office, “D’you have a moment?”

Jon slowly looked up from the statements spread across his desk, still deep in thought. “Not really,” he said slowly, “I’m kind of busy right now.”

Elias sighed dramatically, “Ever the busy bee, but I’m afraid this can’t wait.” He stepped inside amidst half-hearted complaints.

“What is this about, Elias?” he groaned.

“There is an event happening in a few days, and I would like you to attend.”

“Really, you interrupted me to ask me to a party?” Frustrated, he picked a pen up off his desk to circle a phrase in a statement about vampires. When Elias didn’t leave, Jon said sarcastically, “Let me guess, you needed one of your little _pets_ to come to a gathering of mass hysteria? And Tim wasn’t available?”

“Actually, no. Although,” he mused, “That’s a good idea.”

“No no, I take it back. Forget I said anything. What is this event, then?”

“There is going to be a large social event for the Institute. Everybody is going to come and participate, thought it might raise the morale a little bit.” At Jon’s surprised face, he added, “They might not know about what has happened down here in the Archives, but things have been rocky everywhere else, too. Might be nice to get to know some of your other coworkers, socialize a bit.”

“Wha- what? Are you calling me a… a recluse?”

“Why, yes, _I believe I am_. You have holed yourself up in your office with nothing but tape recorders-“ Jon glanced guiltily at the several ancient pieces of technology in the corner,”-And apparently, quite a few cups of tea as well.”

“Martin brings them, when he thinks I’m, uh, a little bit stressed,” he muttered, trying to explain away the veritable china shop of dirty cups littering his bookshelves.

“You must have been very stressed.” Amused, Elias picked up a mug on the edge of his desk, a crusted ring at the bottom of it.

“I have, Elias, you Know that. Things haven’t been exactly simple, lately. And going to a _party_ won’t help anything.”

“Alas, you are still required to attend, Jon.”

“What are you going to do, fire me?” he said, venomously.

“No, but I can make you wish you were.”

“I already do.”

But Elias had left the room, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll send you the details shortly!”

And that was why, on the following Saturday, instead of binge watching the Discovery channel, Jon was staring into his closet, searching for something to wear.

“NO SWEATER VESTS, JON!” Tim had called into the breakroom the previous day, where Sasha, Martin and Jon had been discussing the upcoming event.

Sasha laughed at his scandalized face, ”What else am I supposed to wear?”

“You must own something other than old professor clothes, right?” she playfully plucked at the old jumper he was currently wearing. Jon shied away from her touch, wounded.

Martin looked from him to Sasha, torn. “I like his style!” he said defiantly, “It’s…sophisticated.”

“Well, Martin, that sounds like a _you_ issue,” Tim winked at him and he blushed.

“It is an issue,” he mumbled, so soft Jon missed it.

Sasha and Tim exchanged knowing looks. “Whatever it is,” she proclaimed, “It is unacceptable for a work party. Jon, you are not allowed to wear something my grandpa might. Do you have, like, a more casual button-up? Maybe some jeans or something?”

Jon considered this, frowning. “Georgie made me buy something like that when we were dating. Said I looked like her dad.”

Martin scowled at his feet.

“To be fair, Jon, you probably did,” said Tim, “Just wear something like that, okay? No tweed jackets or loafers or whatever. This is our chance to not act like a bunch of weirdos around the rest of the staff!”

Sasha snorted, “Yeah, right. It’s not like the only times anybody ever notices us is when there’s been a murder or a paranormal bug infestation. They definitely won’t remember that, not at all!” she said brightly.

Martin didn’t say anything, looking worried.

“Hey, Mart-o, why the long face?” Tim glanced at him, alert to his discomfort.

“It’s, uh, nothing.”

“Your fidgeting and unhappy expression says otherwise,” noted Jon. _Not,_ he thought to himself, _that I had been paying special attention or anything. Right?_

Martin’s ears turned pink at the attention. “I just don’t really like big crowds, or meeting too many people at once, or really loud environments, stuff like that. Part of the joys of anxiety…”

The rest of the group looked at him in shock. Martin, ever the extrovert, anxious about a party? That made just about as much sense as Elias being an immortal serial killer resurrected in the past centuries.

Sasha was the first to speak. “Martin, I’m sorry, we never even would have guessed that you didn’t like stuff like that. You just always seem so…” she trailed off.

“Well, I know you guys pretty well and there are only like six people who work down here, so that’s nice,” he smiled ruefully, “And I’m pretty good at hiding when I’m nervous and stuff like that, so I’m not surprised you didn’t notice. But it’s no big deal, I can manage.”

Tim patted him on the back, “We’ll be there for you! We’ll help you have fun, don’t worry,” he smiled wickedly. Martin did not look reassured.

“Oh no, Tim, what are you planning this time?” Jon sighed, remembering the disastrous Christmas Party Incident of 2016.

“Nothing, nothing. Remember, don’t dress like an old man, okay?”

“It shouldn’t be that hard!” Sasha chimed in.

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the sudden interest in my fashion choices.”

“Our pleasure!” she said, marching out of the room, arm in arm with Tim.

So that had left Jon with the difficult task of picking something to wear. He had never been one to care much for his appearance, normally tossing his long hair into a low bun and slipping into a comfortable yet presentable sweater and dress pants. Working in the Archives could be a bit dusty, and a suit was just uncalled for.

He finally decided on, as Sasha had suggested, a pair of barely worn dark jeans (read: uncomfortable) and a navy blue button-up. _Casually pretentious_ , he thought to himself, lacing up a stiff pair of white Converse he had received for his birthday several years ago.

When Elias had said everybody from the Institute was going, Jon had pictured maybe thirty or forty exhausted-librarian type people showing up for a quiet evening.

Standing outside the entrance to the Institute, he could hear the loud babble of talk and laughter. The first stirrings of what some may call anxiety (but Jon called daily life) snaked into his mind, sweaty palms hurriedly jammed into pockets.

The normally pristine lobby was decorated sloppily with large banners that read “Welcome to the Magnus Institute!” and “We hope you have a scarily fun night!” Jon rolled his eyes, batting aside a few stray balloons. Cheesy, no doubt Tim’s work.

He followed the sounds of a very large crowd to the event hall towards the back of the building. Rarely used, it was now full of people. More people than Jon had thought worked there. Slightly awed, he stood awkwardly in the doorway, scanning the chattering mass for a familiar face.

“That is way more people than I thought would be here.”

Jon started, turning to the voice suddenly in his ear. “Ah, Martin, you scared me. Yes, it is a lot of people. I am not so sure about this now…”

“We’ve got Tim and Sasha, and if we get _really_ desperate, Elias is around here somewhere.” Martin made a face of mock horror, “Shall we go find them?” He smiled, not quite hiding the anxiety in his eyes.

Jon let himself be led into the labyrinth of people, brushing into coworkers he had never met with a muttered apology. Finally, they located their two friends in a back corner of the crowd.

“Jon! Martin!” Sasha waved them over.

“There you are. Congratulations on finding something work-appropriate to wear, Professor Sims,” Tim laughed, not unkindly.

“Thank you,” he said curtly. He scanned the room, taking in the tables set along the walls and scattered throughout room. So busy was he in trying to adapt to this strange new environment he missed Martin’s continued glances.

_He looks really good…_ he thought to himself, not daring to say anything aloud lest Jon suspect something.

“Ahem, can I have your attention please?” Elias’ crisp voice echoed through the speakers, quieting the low rumble of talk. “Thank you for all being here tonight. We thought it would be a good idea to have a night where you can get to know your coworkers. We have some team-building games planned…” He rambled on, outlining the activities. A few cheesy teamwork games, some get to know you games, the usual.

They launched into the games, sometimes separating into teams or smaller groups. Jon lost sight of Tim and Sasha, who seemed to be glued at the hip, quite often. Overall, the value of socializing was lost on him. Too many new faces invaded his mind, names swirling and mixing until they became meaningless.

He never lost Martin, for some reason. Side by side, they said little throughout the night, Jon comfortable in companionship. Martin didn’t seem to be enjoying himself very much but hid it well.

Not from Jon. He automatically took note of Martin’s strained smile, the shake in his hands, the way he tried to breathe deeply when it became too overwhelming. How every time somebody spoke to him he looked a little lost before replying.

“I’ve got to- I need some air,” he muttered, breaking out of the circle they currently found themselves in, leaving a conversation of favorite colors and birthdays. 

“Hm?” Jon looked around, but he had already escaped the room.

Unable to concentrate now on the task at hand (acting like a normal person) the room suddenly seemed to big and the voices too loud. _Definitely didn’t have ANYTHING to do with Martin leaving, not at all_.

Jon soon followed his example, giving a feeble excuse before pushing out into the hallway. Relieved, he sank against the wall, eyes closed. Caught his breath, unaware it had been lost.

When the weight in his stomach had lessened, Jon walked down the corridor, subconsciously scanning for Martin. Wondering if he was alright.

Finally, he found him, sitting outside on the steps of the building.

“Hey-“ Martin jumped a little bit but continued to stare out at the nightscape of London. “Are you okay?” The gentleness in Jon’s voice was unfamiliar to the both of them. He sat down next to him and stretched his legs out in front of his body.

“Yeah, I just…” Martin clenched his hands in his lap, frustrated. “It just got to be a little too much in there. Couldn’t really breathe. Started to overload a bit, wanted some space so I didn’t have an anxiety attack or something.”

“I was feeling the same way, too many people. Do you want me to-“ he paused, “-Give you some space or something?”

He shook his head, biting his lip. “You’re fine. Thank you.” Jon watched him out of the corner of his eye. Martin breathed deep and slow, trying to slow the beating of his heart, relaxing in the night air.

“I’m sorry that was unpleasant for you.” He felt exhausted, unwilling to go back inside.

“Really, it’s fine. I’ll be okay. I think I will just stay out here for a little bit, I really don’t want to be inside. You don’t have to stay out here, go inside and have fun!”

“I don’t want to go back either, I think I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.”

Martin smiled at this, “Not at all.”

They said nothing more, but when the event ended and Tim and Sasha came searching for their friends, they were still outside together.

Jon rested his head on his shoulder, lights of the city night reflected in his glasses, his sleepy smile reflected on Martin’s face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the line between canon and fanfiction is fine and i played jumprope with it


	5. i've got all these demons hiding underneath, nobody can see them nobody but me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang recover from the Jane Prentiss attack. Or at least, they try to. Mental health has never been their specialty. Martin copes in an unhealthy way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this chapter was veryyy difficult to write, idk why. writers block my dudes. anyways the banter scenes always get away from me, so mostly fun banter with a side of angst and trauma. enjoy!  
> xxx

The authorities came to clean up the mess Jane Prentiss left at the Institute. Jon wasn’t sure who the authorities were, exactly, the whole day had been a blur of blood and screams and those tiny, burrowing silver worms. He shuddered, pulling up his sleeves to examine his arms again.

“The holes will certainly scar,” the paramedic had told him, “No avoiding that. Damage can be minimalized by taking care of the dressings and keeping infection at bay.” With that, she had finished covering the wounds with gauze and left, obviously rattled.

He started when somebody put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, sorry Jon, didn’t mean to startle you.” It was Elias. Somebody he was not exactly thrilled to see at the moment. “Ouch,” he said sympathetically, watching as Jon tugged his sleeves over the bandaging, “You got it pretty bad, probably worse than all the others.”

“How is- how are they? Everybody alive?”

Elias smiled slightly, more to himself than anything. “Yes, everybody is okay. Well, we do need to take context for the word _okay_ here. Covered in places where the worms got you and probably mentally scarred? Most likely. Able to walk and speak? Also likely. Sasha seems to have recovered remarkably well from the shock. Tim is trying to flirt with the medic, his way of dealing with trauma I suppose.” Jon snorted, actually _snorted_. Shock can do strange things to a person… ”Martin appears to be healthy. He had to deal with Prentiss much longer than any of us, I assume he’s unsurprised at this turn of events. Other than you four nobody else seems to have been injured.”

He sank to the ground, suddenly weak. Everybody was safe. From what Elias had said, it seemed his coworkers weren’t going to suffer any long-term damages. Jon laughed slightly, imagining Sasha directing the officers on how to successfully catch the criminal who had killed Gertrude, Tim laying on his “bisexual charm” on as thick as possible, Martin still staying steady and strong throughout the whole ordeal.

“You need to go home and get some rest, Jon.” Surprised, he looked up to see Elias still watching him.

He groaned. “Everything hurts right now. Just, give me a minute. I’ll go home soon, don’t worry.”

And so he sat on the warm cement, watching as people scurried around him. People with worried faces and rubber gloves, the kind of people who whispered as they walked past you.

Understandably Jon did not sleep well that night. He hadn’t slept peacefully for sooo long, it was doubtful being attacked by a vengeful entity of corruption would help things.

But he hadn’t expected the dreams to be this bad. Silver worms turned to snakes chasing him down twisting hallways. Gertrude’s body, animated by puppet strings, speaking through a mouthful of ashes. Martin falling to the ground, convulsing as the worms descended upon him and swallowed him whole.

“AAAH!” He shot straight up in bed, the sheets lying in a heap on the floor. He breathed heavily, trying to keep his heart from leaving his throat. “Just a dream, Jon, get a grip…”

Even so, he couldn’t help running his hands over his arms, brushing off the remnants of dreams and bugs.

~~~

“Good morning boss!” Tim’s chipper greeting couldn’t hide the anxiety and fear everyone in the Archives was feeling. Tucked behind fake smiles and forced laughs was an ocean of panic everybody was drowning in.

“Uh, hello Tim. How are you?” Jon watched as his face shifted quickly from concern to panic to an impassive mask.

“I’m doing pretty well, quite sore though.” He changed the subject abruptly, “Those worms left one heck of a mess for us to clean up, didn’t they?”

He was right. The Archives were a mess. Statements strewn across the floor; some half eaten. A huge hole in one wall, several bookshelves were toppled. Jon sighed, thinking of all the work they would need to put into cleaning before they could even think about trying to understand _what_ had happened.

“I suppose you’re right… I’ll go start cleaning up my office. Is Martin here yet?” Tim quirked an eyebrow at this and he flushed slightly, “And Sasha and Elias?”

“Quite worried about a certain archival assistant, are we?” he seized this distraction with the desperation of a drowning man, clinging to a degree of normalcy, “I would imagine you can’t forget his _beautiful green eyes-_ “ Jon rolled his own eyes as he teased, “-and the _way he just picked you up like a kitten_ -“

“Ah yes, the romantic appeal of being hauled away from a tide of worms because one of them has burrowed into your leg. We gazed into each other’s eyes in a moment of unresolved romantic tension before he scooped me into his arms and- _Tim this is ridiculous_.”

Still maintaining a straight face he continued, “No, it’s just Martin had to deal with this for way longer than any of us, yesterday probably was a traumatic nightmare.” When Tim began to protest, to say _it was rough for all of us_ , he continued, “He had been dreading it for months. To see it actually happen, well… I’m just concerned. If one of you had been seriously injured, or worse, I don’t know how I could live with myself. It was my fault that-“ His voice shook slightly. “-that she was able to get into the Archives in the first place.”

“Well, if we’re playing the blame game, then it’s my turn. And I am extremely competitive. I will beat you at _anything_ you are stupid enough to challenge me at.” Tim smiled crookedly before saying seriously, “If I had noticed something was wrong earlier, then Sasha wouldn’t have had to come and rescue me. If this is your fault, then all of her injuries are mine.”

Elias walked down the hall to where they were standing. “Hello Jon, Tim. Doing better this morning?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Jon mumbled, struck by the uncomfortable realization any one at the Institute, any one of his coworkers could have been the reason Gertrude died. _The killer might walk among them._ The thought tasted like a cough drop, sickly sweet with round edges, slightly repellent yet strangely soothing. A rope to hold onto; an obsession to keep him going.

“Want to join our pity party?” Tim asked in a falsely cheery voice, “You need to bring your own party hat, though.”

“You know, I think I’m good on that front,” he mused, “You two enjoy it. When the party’s over, please _actually accomplish something today_.” With that, he turned and walked crisply away.

“Wow, okay then. It’s definitely not like we were just attacked by a… thing that was covered in things yesterday. It’s okay, we’ll recover from trauma in one day and be back to our work standards like normal human beings.”

Jon snorted. They would never be considered _normal_. Trauma and fear never truly leaves, doesn’t it? _And one of them was a murderer._ He needed to keep an eye out, stay a safe distance back. _Nobody can suspect a thing_.

“Well,” Tim clapped his hands together, “He totally ruined our party. Once Sasha and Martin get here we can start cleanup?”

He nodded, turning away. _Where are you hiding?_ He mentally asked, not expecting the guilty party to step forward and answer his unspoken plea.

“Whoa, this place looks like it’s been bombed!” Sasha gingerly picked her way across several fallen stacks of paper and the remnants of a filing cabinet.

“Pretty close to what actually happened.” Martin followed right behind her.

“Ah, there you two are!” Tim gave her a one-armed squeeze, relieved.

“Er, how is everybody doing?” Nobody responded. They didn’t have to. Jon could read the stories in their faces. Sasha hadn’t slept well _probably nightmares_ Martin was stressed _his clothes were very rumpled_ Tim was hiding something _he never met Jon’s eyes_ Elias was either having a breakdown in his office or was perfectly fine _probably the latter_.

“What are we going to do?” Martin asked him. Like he had any idea what the next step was.

Floundering, he answered slowly, “I believe we first need to make this a workplace rather than, as Sasha eloquently put it, a bomb site.” Everybody nodded at this. “Shall I give out individual jobs or should we all work together?”

“Together,” they answered unanimously.

“That way, if the worms are still here somewhere…” she trailed off, awkward in her fear.

“I’ll protect you Sash!” Tim assumed a ridiculous pose, mimicking an intrepid explorer.

“Onward, brave sir!”

And so they began to fix up the Archives. It was way more work than Jon had originally anticipated, but, if he was being honest, it wasn’t terrible. The easy banter everyone else had going was entertaining and warm, made even sweeping up worm carcasses and moving bookshelves bearable. Paranoia would seize him at the most random moments, reminding him _anyone of these people could have blood on their hands._

“Aaah, I think we’ve got it all back to working order now,” Martin groaned, massaging blistered palms.

From the table where his feet were propped, Tim voiced his agreement. “I mean, we probably could have lived with it the way it was, but _some people_ -“ He glanced pointedly at Jon, who was organizing the remaining mugs by color. “-Are on the OCD side…”

“Just because I don’t enjoy working in an environment prone to slippers and dead bugs means I have obsessive compulsive disorder,” he said without turning around.

“So you’re saying you _don’t_ like to have everything organized by height/color/weight/seize/blood type?” Sasha teased, “I’ve seen your desk. It’s so neat, I don’t know how you find everything.”

“Isn’t that kinda the point?” Martin took a seat next to Tim. “You know, being able to see where everything is?”

“Thank you, Martin, that is _exactly_ the purpose of organization. Some of us,” he glared at Tim, “Do not appreciate the values of being clean.”

“Hey! I know where everything is!”

“How do you get anything down in that hurricane of a workspace?”

“I have to agree with Jon here,” she said regretfully, “You are a disaster, Timothy Stoker.”

“It’s organized chaos! Everything has it’s place!”

“It looks like somebody dumped out your desk across the floor then rolled in it. How can you _possibly_ know where anything is?” Sasha grinned at him.

“There is a method to the madness,” he protested. “A method I tell you!”

“Sure there is,” Martin said suspiciously. Tim threw a pen at him, missing by several feet. Sasha laughed as he threw it back, hitting the mark squarely. Even Jon cracked a smile when Tim fell out of his chair in surprise, Martin crowing triumphantly and then hurriedly apologizing.

Nobody really felt like “actually accomplishing something”, as Elias suggested. Jon didn’t push them to. It just seemed to harsh, even for him.

He headed to his office, desperate to write some things down. Ideas and theories about Gertrude’s death, observations revealed in the mess of the Archives.

When the sounds of shifting furniture and talk had died out the place felt quite strange. Not unpleasant, he realized. Just different. Normally laughter and conversation echoed around the halls, but not today.

Today was quiet.

Jon supposed it was the aftereffects of Prentiss. Being attacked by a supernatural manifestation of corruption and filth had a way of doing that to you.

Outside was quiet, but inside his mind was anything but. The voices who had whispered tales of paranoia abandoned caution and now screamed. The walls of his skull echoed with the effort of holding it back. _Nobody can know_ he told himself, head in his hands. A parade of mistrust yodeled at him as it passed, nasty thoughts laughing when he tried to deny them the comfort of mind space.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Reading a statement. Recording said statement. Searching for follow up. Trying not to panic. Reading a statement…

It was dark outside when the spinning thoughts began to slow. _Night. Means the Archives are empty. Nobody here to hurt me._ He clung to safety in a blanket of darkness. Jon had no intention of going home. Too late now, and what was the point? To visit a place where the worms crawled in the shadows? To lie in a bed that did not bring the comfort of dreams?

He wondered if the gods stayed away because they too, live in fear of what they’ve created. That at least would make sense for all the times they had been abandoned by the supposed higher powers. No, they were truly alone in this world.

He also wondered if trauma made him philosophical.

He left his office, stretching his legs. The floors were clean of debris and worms, nothing out of place. The order was calming. Everything belonged to a place and when the stars aligned and created order, things were softer to the touch.

Something down the hall echoed. It sounded like… well, Jon didn’t know what it sounded like, but it was definitely a living sound. A cough, maybe? Cautious, he crept towards it. Hesitant at what he may find. The door to Artifact Storage opened and Martin stepped out, wearing his ratty pajamas.

“Oh! Jon! I didn’t know anybody else was still here,” he mumbled, recovering from a shock.

“I had precisely the same thought,” he said grimly, “What _are_ you doing here, anyway?”

Martin flushed slightly. “Well, I don’t exactly want to go back to my flat, you know? Too soon. And I’ve been living here for the past while, I decided to stay for a few more nights.”

“Well, that sounds logical. But what are you doing up so late? You need to rest, Martin.”

“I should say the same to you!” He laughed awkwardly. “But I just couldn’t sleep. Wanted to get my mind of things, so I uh…” he shifted on his feet, revealing the broom and dustpan behind him.

“Get some sleep. Whatever you’re doing can wait until morning.”

“Jon, you can’t lecture me on the importance of a sleep schedule. _You also need sleep, like a normal human being._ ”

“Okay, okay,” he held up his hands placatingly, “If I promise to rest, will you?”

After thinking for a moment, Martin shook his outstretched hand. “Deal.”

~~~

Neither of them held their end of the bargain. Shutting off his mind required herculean effort; it was easier to work through the night. Jon could hear Martin tossing and turning down the hall, occasionally getting up to walk around for a bit.

He continued to live in Artifact Storage for the next few days. Jon noticed not a dust bunny was allowed to survive, no corner left un-swept, every surface gleaming. Martin kept the place sparkling clean, almost to the point of annoyance.

Sasha thought it was a favor of sorts, a thank-you-for-letting-me-live-in-the-basement-here-let-me-help-you.

Tim agreed. He treated every word she said as gospel.

Jon, however, noticed a different story. He wasn’t cleaning because it was the polite thing to do. When he would sweep the halls for the third time, when Martin would scrub his hands and forearms raw under steaming water, when he would clutch the dust rag like a lifeline, Jon could see the barely restrained panic in his eyes.

His eyes were also very, very blue.

Jane Prentiss may have been gone, but her marks weren’t. Scarred physically and mentally does not bode well for later life.

“Brought you some tea, Jon.” Martin set the cup down on his desk, absentmindedly rubbing one of his many scars.

His eyes went first to the scars, then the tea, then finally to meet his eyes. “Thank you,” Jon said quietly. “Are you doing alright?”

The scratching intensified. “Y-yeah. I’m doing _great_. Why do you ask?”

“Uh, well, I noticed you’ve been pretty jumpy lately, and you keep cleaning, almost obsessively,” he trailed off, awkward. _Stupid, you shouldn’t have said anything,_ he chided himself.

“Ah. If I’m being perfectly honest, the worms are here somewhere.”

“Wait-have you seen them?”

“No,” he said slowly, “But I can feel them. I need to get rid of them. They can’t hurt you,” he added, more to himself than anything.

“Much appreciated, Martin, but please remember- Jane is gone. You gave me her ashes, remember?

“I know…”

Changing subjects, Jon said, “Thank you for the tea.”

“Of course, no problem.” Martin made to leave, but he put a hand on his arm.

“Your mental health is important. Be careful with it.” _Boy was he one to talk…_ But with other people, it was different.

He cracked a wry smile, “Fear ‘keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores’. I don’t know if stability is a thing that even exists anymore.” When Jon looked confused he said, “Keats quote. You know, the poet?’

He shook his head. “Never been one for poetry.” _Two can play at the very attractive quotation game,_ ‘Fears are nothing more than a state of mind’.”

“I wish that was true…” Martin left Jon to his tea and statements and very very loud thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things-  
> not!Sasha is alive and in the place of our beloved Sasha James sadly. and Tim is (was?) in love with her  
> title is from the alec benjamin song demons, love it so much  
> i wish i could claim responsibility but that quote ("He wondered if the gods stayed away because they too, live in fear of what they’ve created. That at least would make sense for all the times they had been abandoned by the supposed higher powers. No, they were truly alone in this world.") is based off a spykids movie quote. had to change it slightly bc there is no way jon is religous. not after all he's seen  
> also jealous!Martin is THE BEST AND SO SOFT AND SWEET WE LOVE HIM  
> comments and kudos are very much appreciated. share your favorite headcanons of our gang!


	6. only miss the sun when it starts to snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here boys we did it
> 
> Jon realizes what he's been ignoring for several seasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHMYGOSH WE MADE IT!!! the completion of my first chapter thingy. feels great. hope y'all enjoyed it, i sure did. thanks for all your support! this is a songfic technically...  
> xxx

The setting sun is a beautiful thing. Over and over it repeats, always the same yet never similar. The bloody light washes everything in crimson, meaning to some the end of a day and to others, the beginning of a new life.

Jon sat at his desk, bathed in the warmth a sunset should bring. To be honest, he didn’t feel much. An awareness, perhaps, that he should be experiencing something. Peace? When had that been common for him? Joy? No, the disappearance of all of the light was something he didn’t celebrate.

What a shocker.

He supposed what he was feeling was nostalgia. For what, he didn’t know. But as the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky, reality seemed much dimmer than he had once hoped it would be. Memories offered him the comfort of arms he had never felt around him.

The hallways were silent. Elias was in jail _thankfully_ , Tim was dead, Sasha was dead, Daisy was hunting, Basira was off doing something he didn’t really want to know, Melanie was at Georgie’s… Jon was alone. At his desk. Trying to think. Trying _not_ to think.

The absence of his coworkers were not entirely unexpected. He didn’t exactly miss them, just missed the life they brought. The livelihood they used to bring, anyways. It wasn’t the way the air conditioning echoed loudly throughout the rooms, easily heard without the talk, that gave him the strange feeling of loss.

This was something new.

He tried to think, to See what was missing. Eyelids pressed close together, face screwed up in concentration as he silently begged the Ceaseless Watcher for relief. Instead of an answer traditionally expected in the flood of information, his thoughts turned to a memory…

**_I walked into the room and then I saw your face_ **

**_You looked me in the eye_ **

**_And then I wanted to erase myself_ **

**_Erase myself_ **

_Why are you showing me this?_ He asked the entity in his brain, unsurprised when there was no answer. Some things aren’t meant to be Known. He sighed and continued to relive his first encounter with Martin Blackwood, this time with new eyes.

~~~

_First day for the new assistant. His hopes were not high. At the very least, he was looking forward to an extra pair of hands, no matter how competent. When Martin walked in, nervous and stuttering, Jon couldn’t help but stare. He didn’t know why, assumed it was suspicion. He didn’t bother pressing the emotion further._

**_I didn’t wanna fall but then I stepped right in_ **

**_I looked down at the ground_ **

**_And then I felt it right within_ **

**_It was too late for me_ **

_He had the strangest feeling in his stomach. In this new world of shifting butterflies and sweaty palms, he knew one thing for certain-_

**_You took a step forward and tilted your head_ **

**_With a curious glance, you stared_ **

**_And I felt dead_ **

**_Oh my gosh, I think I’m dying!_ **

_It was unpleasantly pleasant and he wanted it to stop._

**_You said “Hey”_ **

**_And I said “Hello_ **

**_"What’s your name? I’d really like to know about you"_ **

**_Too bad I stopped at “Hello”_ **

_Help please what is going on- Martin shuffled into the room, unsure. Jon waited._

**_I just stared_ **

**_And you grinned_ **

**_And looked right back_ **

**_It felt like just one big whirlwind_ **

~~~

Well, that was… enlightening. Jon supposed this had been coming for a long time. The loss, everything he was feeling at the moment, it was all because of… No. That couldn’t be right.

**_One big emotional whirlwind_ **

**_Over the next few days, we got to talking_ **

**_With every single word I started falling farther_ **

**_Farther and farther for you_ **

He supposed his way of coping with something new was to be a prick. _Why am I like this?_

**_You were so witty and so charming_ **

**_Swept me off my feet_ **

**_You made me laugh, you made me blush_ **

**_No one could compete_ **

All the frustration, the rudeness, just a vent for an unrecognized crush? _Is this even happening?_ Jon reeled mentally, shocked numb at the tidal wave of realization sweeping through him. _Martin…_

**_You said “Hey”_ **

**_I said, “Hello_ **

**_"How was your day?”_ **

**_You said “Better now”, with a smile_ **

**_Oh what a cliché, but it, to be honest, it made my day_ **

Suddenly everything made sense. The little things he used to do, apparently for no reason, suddenly had a purpose. Why he’d paid such careful attention to Martin, watching him from afar. A thousand little smiles and moments spread between him being a jerk, piling up at the door to his mind.

Hands shaking, he stood up and walked around his desk. Scattered across the floor were statements and meaningless papers, tape recorders hiding in corners, pens strewn about. The only place clean was a small circle on the corner of the desk. Nothing ever seemed to clutter that space. _The perfect size for a mug of tea,_ he thought.

~~~

**_I didn’t wanna fall, but then I stepped right in_ **

**_I looked up at your face_ **

_Every afternoon someone would knock on his door. That person was always Martin, bringing him a cup of tea. Steam spiraling gently, curling around his face in a smoky halo._

_Fitting, he thought._

**_And those eyes, they drew me in_ **

**_It was too late for me_ **

_“I brought you some tea, Jon.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_He set the cup down in the same spot every time- the corner of the desk nearest the door- and left silently._

**_And that’s what we were_ **

**_A simple cliché_ **

_He couldn’t figure out why he did it. Jon certainly didn’t deserve such kindness, but it wasn’t unwelcome._

_He would drink it slowly (always perfect) as he continued to record the statements._

**_It wasn’t made to work_ **

**_But I wouldn’t have it any other way_ **

~~~

He hadn’t had a cup of tea for so long. Didn’t have time to make it himself nor the talent to do so. Jon hadn’t really realized he missed it, forgetting about the little routine. Until now, when he stared at the empty spot on his desk. _Where is Martin?_

 _Stupid, stupid,_ he chided himself. _Why did it have to take the nudging of a voyeuristic overlord to realize the one person he had truly cared about was gone?_

Jon knew what was missing now. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but now the truth was in the open he didn’t know what to do with it.

In a truly British fashion, he decided to make a cup of tea.

**_You said “Hey”_ **

**_I said, “Hello, I gotta know, do you feel this way?”_ **

**_You said “Yeah I do_ **

**_But I was scared of what you might say”_ **

Under-brewed and milky, he drank the unsatisfying liquid with nothing better to do. When nothing remained but sugar crystals, he stood suddenly. “Jon Sims,” he said sternly, “What are you doing? You have just realized you were in love with your coworker. Said coworker has been kidnapped, what are you going to do about it?”

The fantasies of saving a damsel in distress no longer seemed quite so strange. It was his turn to play the hero, now the only acceptable reason for not giving up.

**_And that’s all we were_ **

**_A silly cliché_ **

**_I still think you’re cute_ **

**_But maybe it’s better this way_ **

~~~

“Come on, let’s go home.” The fog of the Lonely didn’t seem as thick.

“How?” Martin stumbled with every step, carrying the weight of the world on shoulders already broken.

“Don’t worry.” Jon slipped his arm around the other man, lending him strength. “I know the way.”

~~~

_“I really loved you, you know.”_ The words played on repeat in his nightmares and waking thoughts. _How had he been so blind?_ And now as he and Martin returned to a somewhat-normal life, he feared his only chance was gone. Slipped out of sight, a future that would never come to pass.

Jon tried to be happy with a normal, domestic life. Doing things friends would do. The days progressed in a blur of gold. No matter what he tried to tell himself, the feeling growing in his chest was definitely there. It wasn’t leaving. _What a shame emotions exist, everything would be easier without them._

**_That’s okay_ **

**_We’re just a little cliché_ **

~~~

Summers in Scotland were beautiful. A little wet, sure, but enjoyable. On a rare afternoon gilded in warmth, he and Martin decided to take their afternoon reading outside. Jon shook out a blanket under the one gnarled, twisted tree.

The bark was rough against his back so he lay on the uneven ground, book in hand. Martin lay next to him, absorbed in his own novel.

The shifting sun played across his face, highlighting freckles he longed to number. A gentle breeze shifted his curls, flopping them across his forehead. Martin wrinkled his nose as he reached up to shift them aside, stopping at Jon’s expression.

“What?”

_Ohhhh crap he was staring again…_

He didn’t say anything.

“What are you looking at? Do I have something on my face?”

Jon laughed slightly. “Yes, Martin, and it’s adorable.”

Everything froze for a moment. A blush simultaneously claimed the both of them. _Why had he said that out loud…_

“Um, what?”

“I can’t-“ Jon shook his head, still laying on his back, “I can’t anymore. You are so beautiful I can’t help myself.”

Martin closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’ll stop, it’s probably way too much and-“

“No, no, it’s- it’s okay. Really, Jon, you’re fine.”

“But you said…” he trailed off. _Did he really want to finish that sentence?_

“Said what?” His voice was soft.

“Um,” he swallowed hard, “Past tense.”

“Wh- oh. Oh.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both afraid to continue. Jon broke it first, hesitant.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yes, anything.”

“Martin I-“ Jon sat up to face him. “I love you.”

His eyes went wide first, then began to water. He scooted closer on the blanket, tangling their fingers together. “I love you too. Present tense.”

**_A little cliché_ **

**_But that’s okay_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song is cliche by mxmtoon  
> LOVE YOU GUYS THANK YOU   
> let me know what you think<3<3
> 
> 10,000 words is a lot of writing my dudes


End file.
